sO 


J(mprPSBi0U0 


Woman’s  Board  of  Foreign  Missions 
Reformed  Church  in  America 
25  East  22d  Street 
New  York 


IS 

Ilf# 

■■  pi 

MARY  TABER  SCHELL  HOSPITAL. 


DR.  HART.  DR.  SCUDDER. 

STAFF  OF  THE  MARY  TABER  SCHELL  HOSPITAL. 


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* lister  Mag’s  impressions. 

A^OW  I must  tell  you  a little  about  this  hospital  and  its  inmates.  It  is  nearly  the  best 
J'Vn  hospital  in  South  India,  containing  forty  beds  and  a large  dispensary  and  out-patient 
department.  There  are  two  large  wards,  one  where  poor  patients  are  admitted  and 
treated  free  of  charge,  and  one  for  caste  people  who  can  afford  to  pay  a little. 
Besides  this,  are  one  or  two  rooms  for  the  wealthier  patients  who  pay  a good  fee.  The  beds  are 
very  comfortable  with  wire  spring  mattresses,  but  as  the  Hindus  are  used  to  the  floor,  it  is 
difficult  to  get  them  to  like  and  remain  in  bed  at  first.  They  much  prefer  the  hard  floor.  I think 
they  feel  they  are  being  put  on  shelves  and  are  very  afraid  of  falling  off.  So  a nurse  here  must 
never  be  alarmed  or  distressed  to  find  her  patient  on  the  floor  at  the  side  of,  or  often  under  the 
bed.  Each  patient,  unless  destitute,  brings  either  a relative  or  friend  to  look  after  her  and  cook 
her  food.  Sometimes  the  patient  gets  under  and  the  attendant  takes  her  place  on  the  bed.  The 
beds  are  rather  high,  for  the  sake  of  the  nurses.  Rice-congee  is  a favorite  food  for  invalids  here 
and  very  good,  too.  The  rice  is  boiled  for  three  hours  and  then  strained  and  passed  through  a 
sieve.  They  also  have  barley-congee,  but  rice  and  curry  is  the  principal  food  of  those  who  can 
take  it,  and  a little  bread,  with  coffee  in  the  morning. 

A wide  verandah  runs  all  round  the  hospital,  which  is  rectangular  in  shape.  Here  the 
nurses  do  their  special  invalids’  cooking,  and  those  who  feel  well  enough  and  are  so  inclined 
come  and  lie.  It  is  no  use  trying  to  keep  the  wards  or  patients  in  order  as  we  do  in  England — 
one  must  be  resigned  to  the  inevitable  and  do  the  best  you  can.  But  considering  all  things,  the 
wards  are  very  clean  and  nice  and  I am  greatly  surprised.  The  floors  are  concrete  and  easily 
washed,  walls  are  constantly  whitewashed  and  a few  nice  pictures  hang  around.  Each  patient 
has  her  locker  with  a little  white  cloth  on  the  top.  The  dressing-wagon  is  in  its  place  and 
medicines  in  regulation  order,  and  charts  as  neatly  kept  as  in  any  well-regulated  hospital  at 

* Sister  May  is  an  English  nurse  who  gave  two  months’  service  in  Mary  Taber  Schell  Hospital. 

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home.  There  are  eight 
daynursesandone  night 
nurse  at  present.  They 
are  all  native  Christian 
girls,  and  look  so  nice 
in  their  pink  jackets  and 
pure whitesarees.  Their 
bare  feet  enable  them 
to  be  quick  and  noise- 
lessin  their  movements. 
India  would  be  a very 
great  land  if  the  tongue 
was  more  tameable. 

Now,  I will  give  you 
details  of  an  ordinary 
day’s  work  in  the  hos- 
pital. At  6.30  a.  m we 
take  our  chota-hazri.  or 
little  breakfast,  and  im- 
mediately go  across  the 
compound  to  the  hos- 
pital and  commence  the 
the  verandah.  morning  round.  The 

nurses  respectfully  salute  us  with  their  customary  “ Salaam  ” and  follow  us  to  each  bed.  This 
is  Ward  One,  set  apart  for  caste  patients  who  can  pay  a little,  and  Christians  who  somehow 


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object  to  being  put  with  lower  castes.  In  the  corner  here  are  two  Mohammedan  women,  “ very 
gosha  ” we  call  them,  because  they  are  not  used  to  public  life  and  in  their  homes  are  shut 
away  and  see  no  men  but  those  of  their  own  household.  As  there  was  no  accommodation  for 
them  in  the  private  wards,  they  had  to  be  content  to  share  with  the  others,  but  have  a screen 
partly  round  them.  When  their  respective  husbands  visit  them,  as  we  have  not  sufficient  screens, 
a sheet  has  to  be  tied  between  the  beds  and  they  get  as  closely  as  they  can  beneath  its  shadow. 
When  the  first  one  came  in,  she  showed  no  interest  in  anything  around,  being  entirely  occupied 
with  herself.  Now  she  really  shows  interest  in  others,  and  expresses  sympathy  for  their  suffering. 
Poor  women,  this  little  experience  of  contact  with  the  outer  world  is  good  for  them,  and  I really 
think  they  enjoy  it  and  are  not  sorry  now  that  they  could  not  be  alone  with  themselves.  They 
are  not  too  ill  to  take  in  all  that  goes  on  around. 

In  the  next  bed  we  find  an  old  lady  who  has  been  operated  on  for  cataract.  She  is  a Chris- 
tian and  the  widow  of  a Christian  professor,  she  proudly  tells  us— (he  was  a theological  teacher). 
Her  eye  is  better,  she  says ; she  has  had  a good  night  and  very  little  pain,  and  in  affectionate 
gratitude  takes  our  hands  and  kisses  them  in  turn.  Next  is  a dear  little  girl  of  six  years,  con- 
valescent after  a long  enteric  fever.  Such  a dear  little  round  face  and  big  brown  eyes — she  has 
just  had  permission  to  have  her  ordinary  dinner  of  curry  and  rice,  and  any  of  you  who  have  had 
typhoid  fever  and  milk  diet  for  three  weeks  will  sympathize  with  little  Jeevamonie’s  delight. 
She  is  just  beginning  to  enjoy  life.  Her  mother  stands  radiant  by  her  side  and  salaams  profusely. 

We  turn  to  the  next  bed.  There  is  a poor  wee  mite  of  four  years  suffering  from  a bad 
congenital  heart.  She  has  a big  body  but  poor  little  withered  legs  that  cannot  support  her.  The 
face  is  too  old  for  her  years — she  has  constant  headache,  and  when  asked  how  she  is,  will  put  her 
little  hand  to  her  head  and  tell  us,  “ Thalai  novoo,”  head  aching.  I had  one  little  dollie  left  that 
my  little  consumptive  patients  at  Dr.  Barnardo’s  village  sent  me  for  the  little  black  children. 
So  it  cheers  this  little  suffering  India  sister,  and  I wish  the  little  patient  who  dressed  and  paid  for 


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that  dollie  out  of  her  few  pence,  could  see  the  brightening  eyes  and  loving  look  as  the  “chin-na 
bonimie”  is  clasped  in  her  little  arms. 

Now  we  come  to  “ Armonie,” — dear,  patient  Armonie,  she  greets  us  with  a smiling  salaam, 
but  she  is  a great  sufferer.  She  has  heart  disease  and  very  bad  dropsy,  and  has  to  be  continually 
tapped  to  get  relief.  She  is  so  responsive  to  any  kind  word  and  deed,  and  always  has  a smile 
and  salaam  when  we  pass  her  bed.  She  is,  sad  to  say,  a heathen.  Her  husband  quite  lately 
consulted  the  astrologers  as  to  her  fate,  and  received  great  consolation  by  being  told  she  was  to 
live  another  twenty-eight  years  and  outlive  himself  by  ten  years.  This  news,  he  thought,  would 
greatly  cheer  the  doctor  in  her  ministrations.  After  all,  there  is  nothing  like  keeping  the  spirits 
up  in  a long  illness,  and  “Armonie”  shares  her  husband’s  consolation  in  the  good  news. 

We  will  not  stay  to  talk  about  each  patient,  but  now  pass  to  the  private  ward  where  is  a 
dear  old  lady,  the  mother  of  a rich  Hindu  who  can  afford  to  pay  well  for  her  treatment.  She 
has  had  a cancer  successfully  removed  from  her  cheek,  and  her  son  is  desirous  of  making  the 
doctor  a present  in  expression  of  his  gratitude.  He  would  like  it  to  be  a personal  gift,  but  this 
the  doctor  objects  to,  and  hopes  he  will  be  persuaded  to  support  a bed.  He  is  not  quite  willing 
for  this,  which  he  suggests  another  member  of  the  family  may  like  to  do.  Finally,  he  promises  a 
new  table,  badly  needed  in  one  of  the  operating-rooms. 

Leaving  this  ward,  we  peep  into  the  operating-room  as  we  pass.  Sundram,  the  little  matron, 
is  busy  sterilizing  and  getting  ready  for  an  operation  later  on.  All  is  in  beautiful  order  here  and 
would  do  credit  to  any  of  our  English  hospitals.  A bell  rings,  and  we  know  it  is  time  for  prayers 
in  the  out-patients’  hall.  Here  we  find  a number  of  women  and  children  and  a few  men  on  the 
steps  outside.  The  forms  are  filled  up,  and  a number  are  squatting  on  the  floor.  Miss  Stanes, 
of  Coimbatore,  known  to  some  who  will  read  this  letter,  is  at  the  organ.  She  is  working  among 
the  Hindu  and  Mohammedan  women  in  their  homes,  taking  the  place  of  another  missionary  who 
is  now  on  furlough.  A hymn  is  sung  in  Tamil  to  some  bright  English  tune.  As  many  as 

6 


HOSPITAL  WARD. 

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possible  of  the  hospital  staff  are  present  and  the  singing  is  hearty.  Then  one  of  the  Bible 
women  leads  in  prayer  and  follows  with  a Gospel  address  illustrated  by  a large  picture.  The 
patients  as  a rule  listen  intently,  and  occasionally  make  some  remarks.  The  good  seed  is 
certainly  sown  day  after  day,  and  only  in  the  great  harvest-home  will  the  result  be  fully  known. 
We  cannot  stay  to  the  end  of  the  address,  but  must  continue  our  visit  to  Ward  No.  2,  where  the 
poorer  patients  lie.  They  are  just  as  comfortable  and  have  equal  attention  as  the  others. 

Here  is  a mother  with  her  little  girl  of  eight  years  lying  on  the  floor  wrapped  up  in  a sheet. 
She  opens  the  sheet  as  we  approach  and  discloses  such  a pitiable  object,  quite  blind,  the  poor 
eyes  being  eaten  away  with  a horrible  disease.  The  little  face  is  terribly  disfigured  and  the 
whole  body  far  from  a pleasant  object,  but  the  doctor  says  her  mother  loves  her  dearly  and 
considers  her  a great  treasure,  and  would  greatly  feel  her  loss.  We  feel  it  would  be  the  greatest 
blessing  for  the  poor  little  sufferer  to  be  taken  away — there  is  no  hope  and  only  a sad  future 
can  await  it.  Poor  mothers,  for  them  there  is  no  comfort  at  the  thought  of  their  little  ones  being 
safely  folded  in  the  arms  of  the  Good  Shepherd.  Would  that  we  could  break  through  all  the 
fetters  that  bind  them  and  draw  them  in  our  arms  to  Him  who  gave  the  mother’s  heart,  to  receive 
His  love  and  consolation.  Will  you  pray  for  these  poor  mothers  and  children? 

Here  is  an  old  lady  who  has  been  suffering  for  eight  years  with  a painful  disease.  At  last 
she  has  gathered  courage  to  come  to  the  hospital.  A small  operation  will  probably  put  her  right, 
but  for  some  time  she  holds  out  against  it.  This  morning,  after  gentle  persuasion  from  our  kind 
doctor,  she  yields,  and  putting  up  her  hands  in  the  attitude  of  beseeching  prayer,  she  earnestly 
tells  us  that  she  will  break  her  caste,  she  will  accept  our  Jesus  if  only  doctor  will  relieve  her  of 
her  pain.  We  will  certainly  do  our  best,  though  we  are  not  sure  of  this  bribe.  The  operation  is 
done  and  so  far  seems  to  be  successful.  Does  she  remember  her  promise  ? We  are  not  sure  that 
she  had  counted  the  cost.  It  would  mean,  probably,  greater  suffering  than  she  has  been  relieved 
from,  but  we  know  that  she  would  have  with  it  the  abounding  consolations  of  Christ  and  the 
glory  to  follow  after.  Time  will  not  permit  us  to  tell  of  all  the  sick  ones  lying  here. 


Prayers  are  over  and  we  must  get  to  the  out-patients.  Here  is  a poor,  little  Brahmin  woman 
in  the  surgery  having  her  wounds  dressed.  That  terrible  disease,  tuberculosis,  is  eating  away 
her  ribs  just  over  the  region  of  the  heart.  She  has  been  ill  two  years,  and  allowed  the  disease 
to  get  too  great  a hold  before  coming  for  treatment.  She  has  had  one  operation,  but  another  rib 
is  now  involved  and  another  operation  seems  impending.  She  has  such  a delicate,  refined  face 
and  looks  so  girlish,  though  she  is  the  mother  of  a sturdy  little  lad  of  six  years,  who  is  by  her 
side  and  down  whose  little  face  a tear  is  stealing  in  sympathy  with  his  mother’s  pain.  She  is 
now  living  with  her  own  parents  instead  of  at  her  mother-in-law’s  house.  The  latter  is  tired  of 
her  and  wishes  she  would  die.  We  ask  her  old  father,  such  a kind-looking  old  man,  who  speaks 
English  well,  if  her  husband  is  kind  to  her.  His  reply  is,  that  he  is  educated  and  an  official  and 
knows  too  well  to  be  unkind,  but  the  mother-in-law  is  ignorant.  Then  doctor  has  a little  talk  to 
him  about  his  daughter,  who  stands  by.  The  conversation  is  in  English,  which  she  does  not 
understand.  In  the  course  of  conversation  another  operation  is  referred  to,  and  before  it  could 
be  prevented,  he  intimates  it  to  her.  Her  distress  is  so  self-controlled — she  just  turns  one  long 
look  at  her  father,  and  then  at  the  doctor,  then  her  lips  quiver  and  doctor’s  kind  arms  are  put 
around  her  as  she  lays  her  head  on  her  shoulder  and  quietly  weeps.  We  wonder  at  a Brahmin 
setting  aside  all  restrictions  as  to  contact  with  Christians — but  the  very  fact  of  entering  a hospital 
is,  in  itself,  defiling,  so  after  that,  nothing  matters.  That  father  loves  his  child,  but  if  she 
becomes  a Christian  that  love  would  make  him  her  bitterest  enemy,  and  were  she  to  remain  in 
the  home  as  such,  it  would  probably  mean  death,  or  something  worse.  We  look  at  her  with  sad 
hearts,  but  somehow  we  believe  there  are  many  secret  disciples  of  Jesus  among  these  poor,  bound 
women.  We  cannot  tell,  but  the  foundation  of  God  standeth  sure,  having  this  seal,  “ The  Lord 
knoweth  them  that  are  His.”  So  we  will  sow  the  seed,  and  pray  over  it  and  leave  them  to  His 
care. 

After  a little  time  spent  in  the  operating-room,  the  morning’s  work  is  over  and  we  repair  to 


io 


II 


DISPENSARY  PATIENTS. 


the  Bungalow,  between  12  and  1 p.  m.,  for  breakfast,  for  which  we  are  quite  ready.  Unless  there 
are  urgent  calls,  writing  and  rest  fill  up  the  hours  to  afternoon  tea,  and  after  that  another  visit 
round  the  hospital  finishes  the  day’s  work  there,  with  the  possibility  of  calls  at  any  time. 

in  tljr  ifoapttal. 

On  Saturday  evening  at  dinner  doctor  informs  us  that  ten  Mohammedans  have  asked  per- 
mission to  spend  Sunday  in  the  hospital.  They  are  not  sick,  then  what  is  their  object?  To  this 
question  of  the  doctor  they  reply  : “ Do  you  not  have  ‘ tamash  ’ on  Sunday?  We  want  to  see,” 
and  with  their  fingers  they  intimated  that  their  great  desire  was  to  hear  the  organ  played.  Being 
“ Gosha  ” women,  they  cannot  come  to  prayers  with  the  out-patients.  “ Tamash  ” is  the  word 
for  anything  festive,  whether  at  weddings,  funerals,  or  any  other  occasion  that  demands  it. 
Here  was  an  opportunity  for  them  to  hear  the  Gospel.  They  turned  out  to  be  the  friends  of  one 
of  the  Mohammedan  patients,  so  accordingly  were  invited  to  spend  the  Sunday  in  the  hospital. 
Early  the  next  morning  they  arrived  in  closed  bullock  bandies,  bringing  several  babies  and  little 
children  with  them,  and  their  food  for  the  day.  A hospital  is  a strange  place  to  choose  for  a 
picnic,  but  it  was  a great  red-letter  day  for  these  poor  women  whose  lives  are  so  monotonous  and 
purposeless.  We  made  a special  programme  for  the  day  on  their  behaif. 

The  work  of  the  day  commenced  at  the  usual  time,  but  as  the  Tamil  service  in  the  Mission 
church  begins  at  8.30  a.  m.,  the  round  of  the  wards  is  not  done  till  afterwards.  This  morning  a 
little  Hindu  woman  intimated  to  doctor  her  desire  to  attend  the  service.  This  was  unusual,  and 
on  being  asked  if  she  were  a Christian,  she  replied,  “ No,”  but  still  urged  her  desire  to  attend. 
Accordingly,  being  too  weak  to  walk,  she  was  driven  with  a Christian  cripple  patient  to  the 
church.  On  her  return,  doctor  asked  her  how  she  liked  the  service;  ‘‘Very  much,”  was  the 
reply.  “ Is  it  very  different  from  your  mode  of  worship?”  ‘‘Very  different.”  ‘‘Which  do  you 
feel  is  the  right  way  ?”  “ Oh,  yours  is  the  right  way.”  “ Then  ought  you  not  to  desire  to  go  the 


12 


right  way?”  “ I have  decided,”  was  the  quiet,  firm  answer.  We  do  not  yet  know  what  will  be 
the  result  of  this  decision,  or  whether  she  will  take  a decided  stand,  later  on,  in  baptism,  but, 
undoubtedly,  a good  work  is  begun  in  her  heart.  For  her,  such  a desire  might  not  involve  what 
it  would  to  some.  Her  husband  has  left  her,  and  she  bravely  earns  her  living  as  teacher  in  a 
government  school. 

I was  very  interested  in  the  Tamil  service.  To  me  it  was  an  inspiration  to  see  about  300 
native  men  and  women  gathered  together  so  quietly  and  reverently  to  worship  God.  The  singing 
was  very  hearty,  and  though  I could  understand  but  little  of  the  address  given  by  the  native 
pastor,  I could  feel  the  power  of  God  in  his  earnest,  fervent  delivery.  On  the  previous  Sunday 
about  twelve  or  more  young  men  and  women  were  received  to  the  Lord’s  Table,  having  been 
previously  baptized  and  given  evidence  of  conversion. 

We  returned  to  the  hospital,  and  while  doing  the  usual  round,  morning  prayers  were  con- 
ducted as  on  ordinary  days  in  the  out-patients  hall.  In  the  afternoon  the  nurses  have  their 
Christian  Endeavor  meeting,  at  which  they  all  take  some  part.  We  arranged  to  make  this  rather 
more  musical  than  usual  for  the  sake  of  our  Mohammedan  visitors.  Accordingly  I accompanied 
the  organ  with  my  harp,  which  had  a very  pleasing  effect,  and  afterwards  one  of  the  staff  sang 
a hymn  solo  in  Hindustani,  with  the  harp  as  the  accompaniment,  for  their  special  benefit.  They 
were  greatly  delighted  and  fully  appreciated  everything.  Their  last  request  was  to  be  shown 
over  the  bungalow  before  they  went  home.  Just  as  they  were  crossing  the  compound  the  little 
milk-boy  appeared,  and  they  fled  back  in  terror.  As  soon  as  the  way  was  made  clear,  and  all 
the  male  population  well  out  of  sight,  they  ventured  over,  and  went  through  all  our  rooms,  asking 
questions  and  showing  much  interest.  So  they  left  us  and  returned  to  the  seclusion  of  their 
homes,  after  what  seemed  to  have  been  to  them  a very  happy  day.  The  evening  shadows  fall 
quickly,  and  after  another  visit  to  each  patient,  night  closes  in,  quiet  begins  to  reign,  and 
Sunday  is  over  in  the  hospital. 


13 


I 


